Paternal Hearts & Love Psalms
by opheliac-fairy
Summary: After the bloody opera, Shilo finds she has no one else in the world. That is, until she starts hanging around the famously infamous GraveRobber, and he, himself, finds his paternal heart growing. But with Shilo headed on a downward spiral, he may find that she simply isn't ready for anything else.


Everyone was gone.

Rotti was gone.

Nathan was gone.

Even Mag was gone.

All she had was an opera house full of people staring at her, confused and in awe. So she had gotten up, looked at them long and hard, said what needed to be said, and then left. And so with that, she was free. But free to do what? It occurred to her long before she left the building, cameras flashing at her, capturing her confused, but bloodied exterior, that she would have no one waiting for her anymore.

The cameras blinded her, flashing in her face as she tried to escape. She had to consider herself lucky that the crowd moved out of her way. A long stride and the flashing lights were behind her, and she could see again. She was in an alleyway now, alone and drenched in blood. At one point in time, merely hours ago, this would have piqued her curiosity. Now it only terrified her.

She needed to get home, she realized. She needed to get home and wash off the blood, get out of the dress, sleep, pretend this wasn't real. And maybe, just maybe, if she believed it hard enough, her dad would be home waiting for her.

Her dress clung to her skin like a wet rag, making her feel cold and naked, and while she was never one to judge, she had seen enough movies to know that cold, wet, and naked in an alleyway was not an ideal situation. It only made her more terrified as she began to walk, looking around for something familiar, but it occurred to her then that she had only seen this from above, and was thoroughly lost.

Maybe, she thought, she could find that one grave robber. What was his name…? Regardless, if she could find him, perhaps he could help her get home. He'd done it before, maybe he could do it again.

So it was settled – she'd find GraveRobber and have him help her out.

So she walked. She walked until she ran. And she ran until she cried. And then she cried until she couldn't breathe. She sat down by a dumpster, then, and pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs. Burying her face in her arms, she sat there and sobbed. Cockroaches crawled on her shoes, but she had no time for them, and just kicked them off and continued sobbing.

What felt like ages passed before she stood up again, tears staining her cheeks and her nose running. She wiped it away and started walking again, calling, "GraveRobber! Where are you?" Another long time passed, and her feet began to ache, enough to stop her yet again. She didn't cry this time, but rather curled up into a ball on the grimy floor, and tried to breathe.

Along this time, she'd closed her eyes, and allowed herself to sleep there. She dreamed of her father. She dreamed of Mag. She dreamed of her father and Mag, and _her_, the three of them as a family. They had herbal tea in the morning, and Mag would say that it was good for the throat, and her father would argue that there is or is not medical science to back that up. And Shilo would just laugh and eat her father's cooking. She couldn't imagine anything else.

It wasn't until she felt someone shaking her by the shoulder that she woke up, startled. Her father had never done that to her, and she couldn't imagine Mag doing such a thing. Someone was calling out to her, "Kid? Kid, are you alright?" They sounded horrified, or appalled, as if seeing her, or the person they thought she might be, was more startling than being shook by a stranger.

She opened her eyes, and saw him, the man she'd been looking for. "GraveRobber?" she muttered, rubbing her eyes with a dirty, bloodied hand. Her wig had managed to fall off, making her blush once she'd noticed. She grabbed it and smacked the dust off before placing it sloppily back on her head.

GraveRobber was knelt down beside her, looking down at her with shock. "What are you doing out here? Shouldn't you be at home, or something?"

"I—I got lost," said Shilo, shyly. She felt dirty and uncomfortable, with dry blood in all the wrong places.

"Obviously," groaned GraveRobber. He stood and pulled her up by the hands. "Come on, let's get you home."

(◡‿◡✿)

Though Shilo didn't know this, GraveRobber had slept in the dumpster outside the house that night. And much to his relief, no reporters, cops, or whoever, came to visit. The house was silent. Much more silent than he'd expected. If it were him in Shilo's shoes, he would've probably thrown a huge fit. But Shilo had simply gone inside, closed the gate, and went to bed. She had waved to him, dressed in her white, stainless nightgown, as GraveRobber pretended to leave.

He considered this a comfort for Shilo, that he was close by, even if she wasn't aware. He had also decided that night, as he was leaving, that he would stop by in the morning to check on her. What he had not expected, however, was that she'd be a complete mess.

She looked as if she'd been up all night crying, which, he realized, she probably had been. Her eyes were puffy, her skin cheeks red, and her wig on backwards. He tried not to laugh at that, pointing a long, pale finger at her and asking, "That's a wig?"

"Can you tell?" she asked, adjusting it on her head.

"Kid," he said, "it's backwards."

"…Oh."

"Here, let me help." He placed his hands firmly on her head, turning the wig around and brushing his fingers through the tangles. Now it looked better. Well, of course it did.

_He_ had done it, anyway.


End file.
